


Down That Road Tonight

by PsiCygni



Series: Redamancy [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluffy, Really fluffy, really really fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsiCygni/pseuds/PsiCygni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yesterday, his bedroom was clean and neat and as orderly as always.  Today, the bed is rumpled and their clothing is tangled together on the floor.  Sequel, of sorts, to Redamancy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down That Road Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> I have very vague ideas of creating a series of these day long one-shots from Spock’s POV, that are not overtly connected but which are also not not connected. In that vein, this comes at some point in time after ‘Redamancy’. Like a week. Or a couple days. Or whatever you feel like makes sense.

Yesterday at 0437, he woke up alone to his dark bedroom, his sheets still tucked into the mattress on one side, his apartment empty and silent.

Today, her breathing is deep and even and her toes brush his leg.

It is normal for him to rise and begin his day.

Her knee shifts to rest against his and she sighs in her sleep when he traces his fingers over her thigh.

…

Yesterday at 0653, he finished reading a paper on Organian neurolinguistics and sent it to her inbox.

Today, he looks up from his desk when the soft tread of her footsteps enters his sitting room.

“Um, hi.”

His gray undershirt falls to the middle of her thighs and she twists her hair around her hand.

“Good morning.”

“I wanted to know if it’s ok if I borrow a toothbrush,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Of course.” 

“Thanks.

He carefully sets down his padd, adjusting it so that it is parallel to the edge of his desk.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you,” she says, then yawns into her shoulder. “Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Indeed.”

Her toes dig into the carpet and she grasps her wrist in her other hand.

“You are still tired,” he says when she yawns again, and she shakes her head. 

“I’m not awake yet.”

“And yet you are standing and speaking. It is truly remarkable,” he says, hoping she will smile. 

She does, ducking her head with a soft laugh so that her tousled hair falls in front of her face. He stands, crosses to her, and gathers it loosely at the nape of her neck, drawing her against him.

“Good morning,” he repeats into the top of her head.

“Good morning,” she whispers back, pressing into him, her hands sliding under his shirt to spread across his back, gentle and soft on his skin.

…

Yesterday at 0709, he began preparing his lecture slides for the coming week.

Today, he stirs two and a half teaspoons of milk into a cup of chai.

“I only have tea,” he says by way of explanation.

She takes the mug from him, her fingers curling around it and her face dipping into the steam as she inhales.

“Tea is fine. Thank you.” 

He grasps the hem of her sleeve between his thumb and forefinger, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I found it on the floor,” she says, looking down to ostensibly study the shirt of his she is still wearing. “Turns out this guy I know is kind of a mess.”

“That is highly inaccurate.”

“Are you just dying to make the bed and pick up our clothes?”

Yesterday, his bedroom was clean and neat and as orderly as always. Today, the bed is rumpled and their clothing is tangled together on the floor.

“I assure you that I will survive.”

“Good. I kind of like having you around.” 

She holds his gaze while she sips her tea, and he runs the backs of his fingers down her arm and up again. 

“I could get used to this,” she tells him, placing her mug on the counter and curling her hands over his shoulders. She tips her face up to his and he presses a soft kiss to her mouth. 

“Frequent exposure to such conditions will likely ensure that is the case.”

“Your room might be repeatedly messy, then.”

“Adjustment in the wake of changing circumstances is only logical.”

She smiles and slides her arms more fully around his neck. His hands find her waist, drawing her body against his. He lets himself return her smile as he glances towards his bedroom and slips his hand under the hem of her shirt, edging it up.

“I am simply attempting to ascertain what articles of clothing in particular I will need to locate later,” he says in response to her questioning look.

“How logical.”

“Precisely.”

Her body shakes against his as she exhales a soft laugh.

…

Yesterday at 0915, he prepared requisition forms for the biology labs on the Enterprise.

Today, they pass a stylus back and forth between them, the padd balanced on his thigh.

“Twenty one down is ‘Cochrane’.”

“Not Centrich? Perhaps the prompt refers to his work on Quantum Confinement Actuators?”

“Hmm, no I don’t think so, or otherwise seven across couldn’t be Rho Sceptri Prime.”

“Unless the answer is the Crystalline City of Acamar IV.”

“Could be. That probably makes sense.”

“I went to a lecture on the subject last year,” he tells her, slipping the stylus out of her hand to fill in their answer. “The structure of the crystals is quite extraordinary.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“About the composition of the city?”

“No, um, well yes. I went to that lecture too, actually.”

“You did? I was unaware.”

“Yeah, I know. I meant to say hi to you and… didn’t. I had a huge crush on you back then. Massive. I could barely talk.” She grins at her lap.

He shifts so that his knee rests against hers. “I suppose it is fortunate that Vulcans do not experience similar circumstances, or I would have been illogically hoping that you would attend my office hours or remain after the conclusion of class to pose a question.”

“Oh, that is really quite fortunate, isn’t it?” She leans over and kisses his cheek. She doesn’t pull away, but presses her forehead to his temple and whispers, “I have a pretty big crush on you still, you know.” 

“It appears you have overcome your inarticulateness, as you are loquacious as ever,” he tells her. She raises both eyebrows, her mouth pursed and he grabs her forearm when she makes to elbow him in the ribs.

“Don’t tell me you’re ticklish.”

“I will not tell you that,” he promises, easily holding her arm away from him when she attempts to repeat the motion.

“You are, aren’t you?”

“I have no comment on the matter.”

Her mouth drops open, her eyes shining. 

“Spock,” she says, her serious tone belied by the way she is smiling.

“Let us return to the topic of your infatuation for me.” 

She laughs and he can feel it hum through his hand.

“I’m infatuated with the idea of you being ticklish.”

“I do not know to what you are referring.”

Her free hand ghosts over his side and he grabs that one, too, their fingers tangling around the stylus.

“Are you busy trying to invent a very logical reason to get off the couch?”

“It would be convenient if I were suddenly needed elsewhere,” he agrees.

Her teasing smile gentles, then diminishes slightly. “Are you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Do you happen to have prior plans for the day?”

“No. But you’ll tell me if you need me to go, though, right? Even if you’re not busy and if I’m just in your way?” she asks softly, laying her arms across his shoulders and leaning against him.

“I will,” he promises, turning towards her and finding her mouth with his own. Her hair is soft under his hands and it slips easily through his fingers. The fabric of her shirt is softer still as he spreads his hands on her back. When he pulls away, her mouth chases his and a soft, displeased sound rises from her.

“Come back here,” she grins, leaning towards him.

“Nyota.”

“Hmm?” she hums into his cheek.

“I have never been in a committed relationship with a human. It would be practical for you to tell me what you need at various junctures, since it is unlikely that I will know.”

She sits back, her dark eyes searching his face. She nods and smoothes her fingers through his hair. “You tell me, too, then.”

“That is logical.”

He leans towards her again, gathering her against him and kissing her, parting her lips with his own.

“You know what I really need?” she whispers into his mouth.

“What?” he asks, sliding his hands around her waist and tugging her bottom lip between his.

“Breakfast.”

“I cannot understand you,” he says between kisses. 

“Spock,” she laughs, muffled and breathy.

“Your normally unparalleled enunciation seems to be impaired.”

“Food,” she whispers, peppering light kisses onto his mouth. “Pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” he asks, cupping her cheeks and kissing her firmer, slowly and thoroughly until her arms tighten around his neck and she begins to press more fully against him.

“Pancakes,” she says finally, pulling back, her hands light and warm on his face.

“Pancakes,” he confirms, resting their foreheads together. “I have never made pancakes.”

She smiles, stands and pulls him up with her.

“I’ll show you.”

…

Yesterday at 1146, he washed one plate and one fork and one glass.

Today, he rinses their dishes as the shower turns off.

“That’s better,” she declares, padding back into the kitchen as he dries a mug.

“I trust you found everything you required.”

“Yep.”

She comes to stand next to him and when he sweeps her hair behind her ear with two fingers, she smiles up at him and leans her cheek into his palm. The contact is enough to send a small buzz up his arm.

“I must finish writing midterm examinations.”

“How convenient that I have to study for midterms today,” she says, smiling and reaching up to draw her fingers along the back of his hand, quick and light on his skin, warmth prickling in the wake of her touch. She turns to place a kiss to his wrist. “I miss being in your class.”

He cups her shoulders in his hands, looking down at her bare feet against the tile floor of his kitchen, her hair unbound and loose, her face free of cosmetics.

“I am not entirely certain I share such a sentiment,” he replies and she presses a soft kiss to his chest, through his shirt.

“Well, I certainly don’t miss your exams,” she says. “It’s remarkable how much less time homework takes without having to study for them.”

“Then it is quite opportune that I, too, do not have sufficient work to occupy the entirety of the day.”

“I guess the only logical course of action is to just finish up what we do have and then see how else we want to fill the afternoon.”

He nods and brushes his thumb over her lips. “That is an excellent plan.”

…

Yesterday at 1622, he was grading quizzes.

Today, she gasps into his shoulder and scratches her nails down his back. Her brows are knitted together, her mouth slack and open, and her breath hot and damp on his skin. He tucks her leg under his arm and she tips her head back, her throat working soundlessly.

Afterwards, she rests against him, warm and flushed, tracing her fingertips across his ribs. He reflexively draws slightly away from her.

“I knew it,” she whispers, still slightly breathless, trailing her fingers over the same spot again. He grabs her hand, stilling her touch, and her delight and amusement stream up his arm.

“I do not know what you are referring to,” he says, stroking his fingers over hers.

She runs her other hand through his hair and he leans into her touch, letting his eyes close.

“You’re my favorite half Vulcan.”

“As I am the only-“

He stops speaking when she presses her fingers to his lips. They are quickly replaced with her mouth and he sighs into her kiss, his hands finding her hips as he rolls her on top of him.

“You are occasionally rather illogical,” he tells her as she laces their fingers together and presses their hands into the pillow beneath him.

“Then it’s a good thing I have you,” she replies and he tips his head back so she can kiss a line down his neck. She slips her fingers from his and trails them down his palms, over his wrists and along the inside of his forearms. 

He flinches and tries to twist away from her when she finds his stomach, but she’s still straddling his lap and he cannot move far without removing her.

She grins at him. “Just gathering data.”

“Please desist.”

“It’s all in the name of scientific exploration.”

He shies away from the light touch of her fingers playing over his sides.

“It is curious that you find my response so amusing, as it is a normal, physiological reaction.”

“Exactly. We need to document all instances of-“

She laughs when he flips her on her back, beating gently at his shoulders even as she wraps a long leg over his thighs.

“If you do not cease, I will have no further recourse than to determine if you respond in a similar manner to such stimuli.”

“I can’t believe how ticklish you are,” she grins, squirming against him as he gently gathers her hands together above her head.

“Can I suggest a different pursuit for your apparently unrelenting physical energy?” he asks, enjoying the way her body shifts underneath his.

“I suppose,” she says with a sigh that he assumes is sarcastic, what with the way she slides her hands into his hair and eagerly kisses him.

…

Yesterday at 1757, he was returning emails.

Today, she drops two onions, a head of lettuce, and six carrots into the grocery basket he’s carrying.

“Seven.”

“They’re big.”

He contemplates them until she pokes his arm.

“I’d love to see a Vulcan cookbook someday.”

“It remains that it is eighteen percent less carrot.”

“I’m sure it’ll taste the same, but want me to get another one?”

He shakes his head and she squeezes his elbow.

“It will not, strictly speaking, taste the same, but it will be acceptable.”

She grins up at him, then reaches back into the basket to arrange the items so that the lettuce is no longer in danger of having an onion roll onto it.

“There,” she says, shifting two of the carrots away as well. She pauses when her fingers brush over a package of coffee.

“Would you prefer a different brand?”

She smiles, her teeth on her lower lip, and shakes her head. 

“Let’s get some ice cream,” she suggests, her hand closing over his. Warmth tingles up his arm and he squeezes her fingers.

“That is not nutritious.”

“I’ll remind you of that after you’ve finished the entire carton.”

“The normal caloric intake of-“

She turns to walk backwards, their linked hands stretching between them as she pulls him along.

“I love you.”

His feels the rate of his pulse immediately increase. “Ah. Excellent.”

“Come on,” she says, drawing him towards the next aisle and he follows, quite unable to keep himself from smiling.

…

Yesterday at 1831, he was hanging her raincoat next to his as she set her padd and comm on his table.

Today, it is still raining and he pulls her under an awning as they wait for the bus back to his apartment. He lets the bag of groceries slip down his wrist to settle in the crook of his elbow as he pulls the zipper of her coat higher under her chin.

“Thanks,” she says as he pushes a few damp strands of her hair that have clung to her cheek back under her hood. Her eyes are wide and bright and her hands lightly close over his elbows.

“You are very beautiful.”

She laughs softly and her nose wrinkles as she smiles, squinting at him. 

“You never say things like that.”

He thumbs her cheek, her amusement and gentle surprise prickling across his skin.

“I am not in the habit of stating the obvious.”

“What else is so glaringly blatant that it has so far gone unuttered?” she asks, tapping her foot against his.

“You are very intelligent.”

“Thank you,” she says with a smile.

“You are an excellent conversationalist and have astute analytical skills.”

“Well, shucks,” she laughs, her eyes shining.

“You have exceptional aural sensitivity and are unparalleled at xenolinguistics.”

She giggles and shifts closer to him, their bodies brushing together and the groceries bouncing against his hip.

“I like this game. What else?”

“You are quite excellent at crosswords.”

“And?”

“I love you as well.”

She blinks, swallows. 

“Really?”

“Yes.”

She pushes her face into his chest.

“Nyota?” he asks, cupping the back of her head in his hands.

She shakes her head and presses closer, a shaky, shuddering breath rising through her shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she says thickly, one hand wiping at her cheek. “But you can’t say anything else nice until we’re back home.”

“Ah. I see.” He wraps his arms around her shoulders. “I apologize. I will refrain from further comments.”

He tugs her hood back enough to press a kiss to her forehead, before pulling it forward again.

“Well, ok, you can say one more nice thing,” she whispers.

“You make excellent pancakes.”

Her laugh is a warm puff of breath against his neck and she holds onto him tight around the waist, her head tucked under his chin as the rain beats down around them.

…

At 1957 yesterday, they sat on his couch with mugs of tea, talking.

Tonight, she tucks her legs under her, her hands cradling her mug once again as they resume their conversation.

“We got a little distracted,” she says, nudging her knee against his.

“We did,” he agrees, curling his fingers over her thigh, as he had wished to do that yesterday and had not.

“I still want to hear about how construction on the Enterprise went this week,” she tells him as she shifts her mug to one hand and draws her fingers under the edge of his collar. 

“Satisfactorily.”

“That’s it? All the news?”

“You remain rather preoccupying,” he tells her, capturing her hand in his.

“Sorry,” she grins.

“I do not believe you are.”

“Well, no.” She squeezes his fingers, the touch sending a tingle through his palm and wrist, before pulling away. “But I do want you to tell me all about it.”

“You have an inexhaustible curiosity about the subject.”

“About your work,” she corrects.

He nods, tracing his fingers around her kneecaps.

“I understand that inclination.”

“Now who’s distracting?” she asks.

“I apologize.”

“Really?”

He looks down at his hand on her that he has yet to remove.

“I suppose.”

She smiles and shifts slightly closer to him, laying her hand over his.

“I’ll persevere. So. Tell me everything,” she says, and he does.

…

At 2348 yesterday, he thought of her, as well as the day before that, and the day before that, and so on until he cannot pinpoint the day he started to, and cannot answer to himself whether there was ever a time that he did not, whether whatever part of him she fits into was not always there and waiting.

Today, she rests next to him, her skin damp, her hair tousled around her shoulders, and her eyes repeatedly blinking shut.

“You’ll wake me for class?” she yawns, nosing into his arm until he raises it so that she can slip under and fold herself against his side. He nods and she tips her face up to his for one more kiss.

Yesterday, her breathing evened out slowly, gradually, as she slipped into sleep, her breath whispering against his hand as he lay behind her. 

Today, she curls her fingers on his chest, their legs tangled together and her mouth slightly parted as she sleeps. 

Like yesterday, he runs his fingers through her hair, and like yesterday, he curls his arm around her to draw her closer against him. Like yesterday, it takes him a long time to ease into sleep, his focus on her soft weight and quiet exhales keeping him awake far into the night.


End file.
